The rain hammered harder against the eaves, every droplet loud as steel as Mina and Ashe skidded into the alleyway.
The world almost went white when the golem's shadow loomed overhead—its fist, a slab of stone the size of a wagon, swung down to pulp them both.
"—Ashe!" Mina shoved him with all her strength.
He stumbled, heart in his throat—
—but the blow never landed. Instead, a spear shot through the air, a streak of silver light.
Thunk.
The weapon embedded into the golem's stony knuckles before bursting with a violent detonation. Rock fragments flew like shrapnel as the monster reeled back, its roar cracked by the sheer impact.
"Burst Tip!"
The voice was Arin's. The longspear-wielding warrior stood in the rain, another shaft already materializing in his hands as if conjured by the storm itself. His green cloak whipped behind him, eyes sharp on the beast.
"N-nice one!" Mina shouted, grinning despite the chaos as she dragged Ashe upright.
They had no time to linger. Mina grabbed his wrist and pulled him deeper into the narrow path. "Come on—we're not here to play heroes!"
"O-oi, wait!" Ashe stumbled to keep pace.
Mina snapped back, urgency burning in her voice. "Ashe—it's about time you cast that Adrenaline spell! On me!"
His eyes widened. "H-huh? But—Mina, I can only apply it directly to your mana heart. I'm not even sure if it'll—"
"C'mon, just do it!" Mina barked, already adjusting her stride to give him access. "Cover me while I take point!"
Her voice left no room for hesitation.
"…R-right."
Ashe reached forward, pressing his hand against her chest just over her sternum. His mana surged, a golden warmth spiraling down his arm. It wasn't the clean channeling of typical buffs—instead, he forced the energy straight into her mana heart, bypassing the pathways she didn't have.
A rush of power flooded her body. Her legs quivered, her pulse spiked—her senses sharpened until the world's noise slowed to a steady rhythm. Mina's lips curled into a wild grin. "Hah. That's the stuff."
At the same time, Ashe pressed his palm against his own chest. His voice lowered to a whisper, steady despite the storm.
"Illusio… Tenfold Veil."
The air shimmered, bending faintly before wrapping around him like a blanket. To the eye, Ashe vanished—yet Mina could still see him, his form hazy and transparent, tethered by the shared anchor of his spell.
"Stay close," his disembodied voice murmured.
"Always."
With that, Mina reached behind her belt. Her hands moved with familiarity, undoing the leather fastenings of a slim pack. She drew her two daggers, steel singing as rain ran down their edges.
The first was Ruth—a cruel, thin dagger humming faintly with gravitic enchantment. Its presence alone seemed to pull at the air, distorting droplets of rain that came too close.
The second was Less—a broad push-dagger, short but deadly, its edge veined with etched runes. "Destabilize" was its curse; one cut could disrupt the flow of mana within an opponent, leaving them exposed for several crucial seconds.
Together, they gleamed as an inseparable pair. Ruth/Less.
"Finally," Mina muttered, spinning the blades into ready grips. "I get to use these on something that matters."
They pushed deeper into the winding backstreets. The sound of boots slamming against wet stone echoed ahead—the Dototore thugs, thirty strong, retreating fast.
Mina glanced sideways at Ashe's blurred form. "Listen. If we can find where those rats hole up in Alpime, that's their frontline cut clean. Tropico gets more influence points, and Dototore gets humiliated in their own game. We do this right, Ashe, and Western III will have the whole town eating out of our hands."
Despite her grin, her eyes sharpened—cold, calculating.
Ashe swallowed hard. The words "Guild War" carried weight, but for the first time, he could feel its reality pressing down on him.
Still, he tightened his fist and nodded. "Then let's shut them down."
The chase began in earnest, their silhouettes vanishing into the labyrinthine veins of Alpime's underbelly, rain swallowing their footsteps.
The rain made everything feel heavier—streets, air, even footsteps. Camylle Aurburst trudged along the cobbled lane with her umbrella angled against the drizzle, a brown paper bag of vegetables and spices tucked carefully against her hip. Her fiery orange hair clung damp against her tan skin, and the tiny burn scar at her neck peeked from under her collar like an old signature of hers.
The ground rumbled beneath her boots, faint quakes rippling through puddles. Camylle paused, brows furrowed. "The hell…? What's happening in the plaza?" She tilted her head toward the muffled roar and distant crash of stone. "…Psshh. Not my problem anyways. Not today."
She shifted the bag in her arms and took another step forward—only for chaos to barrel out of the side alley.
One thug. Then three. Then fifteen. Dozens of Dototore bruisers, soaked and grim-faced, dashed across the street like a swarm of overfed rats. The air stank of sweat, wet leather, and cheap ale.
"H-hey! Watch where you're going!" Camylle barked, jerking back before one nearly shoulder-checked her.
"My bad!" came a voice—an annoyingly cheerful shout, considering.
Camylle blinked. Lieutenant Exequiel was being carried bridal style by a horse beastfolk woman twice his size, her long equine ears flicking in the rain. His cloaked flapped dramatically, but the image was ruined by the way his arms clutched around the woman's neck like a damsel in distress.
"…Freaks," Camylle muttered, staring after them. Then she blinked again, realization dawning. "Wait—was that the Dototore's? What a bunch of—"
Her insult cut short.
Because two more figures came sprinting out of the same alley—except only one of them was visible.
"O-oh! Camylle!" Mina's voice carried in the drizzle as she waved while running past, Ruth and Less at her hips glinting.
"S-sorry, Camylle!" Ashe's disembodied voice chimed in, though his body was nowhere to be seen.
Camylle nearly dropped her groceries. Her eyes darted from Mina to the empty space beside her, back and forth. "O-oi, hold on—what the hell!? Why am I only seeing Mina!?"
But the two brats didn't answer. Mina offered a quick grin, then darted back into the rain-slick alley. Ashe's footsteps splashed invisibly beside her, and in seconds they were both swallowed up by the maze of streets chasing after the Dototore mob.
Camylle stood rooted in place, groceries clutched, umbrella tilting slightly as the absurdity caught up to her. A cabbage rolled free from the paper bag and plopped into a puddle at her feet.
"…The hell is wrong with this town?" she muttered, voice flat as she bent to pick it up. "…I swear, every time I step outside something stupid happens."
She shook her head, cheeks puffed in irritation. "Harlen's not gonna believe this. 'Oh hey, Har, guess what? I saw the Dototore's idiot lieutenant getting princess-carried by a horse woman while two teenagers played invisible tag behind them.'" She scoffed. "…Yeah. Real believable."
Camylle adjusted her umbrella, sighed heavily, and finally started walking again—grumbling under her breath as the tremors from the golem's rampage rattled her bones.
The alleyway twisted and turned like a snake, slick with rainwater and dim from lanterns that barely clung to life against the drizzle. The pounding footsteps of thirty Dototore Fakshyun thugs and their five hired adventurers echoed ahead like a stampede, a crude orchestra of splashing boots and labored breathing.
Mina and Ashe trailed thirteen meters behind, close enough to taste the adrenaline yet careful to remain out of sight. Ashe's eyes glowed faintly as he muttered under his breath, his mana weaving into a focused pattern.
"Mothwing: Poussière…"
The world shifted in his vision. He could see trails of residual mana glowing faintly in the wet air, threads of energy like moth dust drifting behind the thugs. Footsteps pressed faintly against the ground, warm impressions still steaming with body heat. Even the tang of sweat, acrid and sharp, brushed against his senses. Their quarry was an open book before him.
"They're cutting left—through that construction alley," Ashe whispered, his form still blurred and invisible beneath Tenfold Veil.
"Got it," Mina replied with a grin, blades bouncing at her hips as she ran.
The chase continued through narrow streets, skirting around half-finished stonework and over narrow canals. Rain pooled in dark reflections, splashing high with every step.
But then—
"Lieutenant! We're being tailed!" one of the adventurer hires shouted, a wiry eastern-looking man glancing nervously behind.
"What!?" Exequiel's voice cracked with irritation. "Idiot! Why didn't you say so earlier!? We're this close to the cellar!"
The lieutenant shifted uncomfortably in the horse beastwoman's arms, his scarf flapping comically as she carried him bridal-style with unnerving ease. He clicked his tongue and met her golden-brown eyes.
"Scalp," Exequiel barked. "Deal with them. Catch up with us later."
The beastwoman—tall, broad-shouldered, with long legs that promised terrifying speed—gave only a curt nod. "Yes."
She set Exequiel down without ceremony and turned, her boots splashing mud as she thundered back the way they had come. The rest of the Dototore Fakshyun disappeared into the labyrinth of alleys, dragging their lieutenant toward safety.
Mina's eyes widened as she spotted the charging silhouette—an enormous woman, brown-tinted mane whipping behind her as she sprinted toward them like a warhorse.
"Wh—what the hell is that!?" Mina exclaimed.
"Mina!" Ashe's voice barked from nowhere, hurried and sharp. He slid to the side, pressing himself against a wall. "Take cover! I'll… I'll form something up!"
Scalp's sharp ears flicked, catching his invisible voice. Her brow furrowed in momentary confusion. "Two voices? Hmph. Doesn't matter."
She launched herself forward, right leg coiling before snapping out in a brutal, straightforward kick aimed to crush Mina flat.
"Too slow!" Mina barked back, sliding under the sweeping leg, mud splattering across her boots.
Scalp landed with a heavy thud, but her expression twitched as she felt the sting on her thigh. Looking down, she saw the torn fabric of her trousers and a shallow cut beading droplets of blood.
Her lips peeled back in irritation, a low growl rumbling from her throat.
Mina stood a few paces away, drenched but defiant, one blade sheathed and the other drawn. In her right hand gleamed the enchanted push dagger—Less. Its short, brutal edge was designed for stabbing, not dancing. And yet, Mina's stance made it clear she'd wield it like an extension of her arm.
Scalp's eyes narrowed. A teenager, yes, but one that moved sharper than expected.
"You little brat…" she muttered, flexing her legs as the ground cracked slightly beneath her stance.
Mina smirked, spinning the dagger in her palm with cocky bravado. "What's wrong, horsey? Not used to your prey biting back?"
Behind her, unseen to Scalp, Ashe raised his hands, weaving sigils in the rain as threads of mana began to gather, his voice low and determined.
The real fight was about to begin.
The rain thickened, drumming over stone and wood, bouncing off the narrow eaves of the alley. The puddles rippled with every low quake of Scalp's stance as she bent her knees, hooves grinding against wet cobble. Her body tensed, the raw pressure of mana channeling into her limbs—until her right calf failed to surge properly.
"What—?" she muttered under her breath. Her perception shifted inward, and she felt it clearly. The flow had broken. The mana that should have coursed smoothly into her calves like molten fire hit a wall of static, fizzing uselessly against her own body.
Her golden eyes trailed downward, to the shallow cut on her lower thigh. Then to the push dagger gleaming in Mina's hand.
"…Your dagger's enchanted, huh?" Scalp sneered, lips twisting into something between annoyance and amusement. "Destabilization? How ratty."
Mina didn't respond. Her jaw tightened, her breath measured, her eyes sharp. Her small frame gave nothing away, save for the cold calculation flickering behind her pupils.
This wasn't new. Not to her. Dungeon cleaners were built on facing the unexpected: the unlisted monsters that slithered out of collapsed cores, the sudden mutations that even scholars couldn't predict, the desperate fights with beasts that should've been long dead. This was just another "surprise"—an oversized pest in the dark.
Just imagine it's another crawl. Another secret monster.
Her heartbeat steadied.
Scalp, however, widened her eyes. A prickling sensation ran up her spine. Her instincts screamed. She spun her head back sharply, mana perception flaring to life like a second sight.
Nothing. The space behind her was empty.
And yet—
Her skin shivered at the raw flow of mana weaving in the air. An illusion.
"You little—!"
She lashed out, her long leg slicing through the rain like a lance, aimed squarely at a nearby pillar where she sensed something was hiding. The impact cracked stone, spraying shards and splintering wood.
"—gh!"
A splash echoed as water burst upward from the cobbles. For just a second, Ashe's foot had betrayed him, tripping against uneven stone as he staggered back. His invisibility still cloaked him, but the world didn't lie—Scalp saw the puddle break, felt the air tremble where he had faltered.
Her lips curved into a dark smile, feral and sharp.
"So it's you." Her voice dripped venom, deep with recognition. "The illusion boy from Western III I've been hearing about."
Her words hung heavy in the rain, twisting the air with sinister weight.
Mina flinched at that tone, her grip tightening on Less. For just a second, she wondered how someone with that kind of strength, with that kind of perception, ended up working as a Dototore thug.
And then she remembered. The Dototore weren't just a gang. They were a faction. A place where lost talents rotted, misused, and misdirected.
Scalp's eyes flicked between them, predatory and assessing. One brat with enchanted blades. One hidden illusionist.
And despite the cut in her leg, despite the static still disrupting her calf—she grinned.
"Guess I'll be earning my keep tonight."
She lowered into a stance, muscles coiling like springs.
ChatGPT said:
The drizzle turned into a steady patter, the narrow alley filling with echoes of dripping water and heavy breaths.
The moment the destabilization enchantment wore off, Scalp's legs surged with mana once again—like fire shooting through veins. She didn't hesitate. With a sudden blur of speed, she closed the gap.
"—ghk!"
Mina barely had time to brace. In the blink of an eye, her body was slammed against the wall, the cobblestone scraping her back as the air was forced out of her lungs. Her grip failed, Less clattering to the ground, its blade ringing faintly against wet stone.
Scalp's grin widened, mischievous, hungry. She seized Mina by the collar and hauled her forward only to smash her into the opposite wall. Dust trickled down the cracks her force left behind.
But Mina wasn't just baggage. Gritting her teeth, she coiled her body and shoved both feet against the wall behind her, launching herself forward like a spring. Their hands locked in the middle of the alley, fingers digging into skin, bones creaking under pressure.
For an instant, the two froze in a raw contest of strength.
It was madness. Scalp's frame towered, every muscle honed and backed by mana enhancement. Mina was wiry, smaller, a street rat turned dungeon-cleaner.
"What are you even doing, brat?" Scalp sneered, squeezing harder. Mina's knuckles whitened, her palms screamed with pain. Scalp leaned close, her golden eyes narrowing, the red rings in Mina's irises catching the dim light.
"…Wait."
Her grin faltered as recognition struck.
"A Null? You're a Null?" The words spat from her mouth like venom. "You don't even have pathways—and you thought you could match me?"
Her grip tightened, bones threatening to crack.
Mina's breath hitched. Her arms trembled. Her will wavered—until she saw it.
A shimmer. A streak of blur darting across Scalp's eyes.
The beastwoman blinked. Again. And then her vision faltered, the rain tilting sideways, the alley walls breathing like living things.
"The hell—?" she muttered, teeth gritting as panic edged her voice.
She knew instantly. She'd made a mistake. A fatal one. She had focused everything on the little Null… and ignored the shadow weaving illusions into her head.
"Ashe—" she hissed, twisting her mana inward. Her spirit surged as she tried to throw up barriers in her mind, shoving raw force into her spiritual veins to block the invasive whispers and visions clawing at her senses.
But it left her open.
"Haah!" Mina's fist snapped up, driving straight into Scalp's stomach. The blow wasn't heavy enough to break her, but it was enough to stagger her when her focus split.
"Ashe! You better fuck up her vision!" Mina barked, teeth clenched, sweat mixing with the drizzle on her brow.
"I—I am!" Ashe's voice rang from the side, his invisibility flickering away as he poured more focus into the Veil. His form shimmered into view, pale, strained, his hands twisting in controlled patterns.
Scalp reeled, her world collapsing in on itself. The cobbled ground warped into holes beneath her feet, the walls around her folded and moved, Ashe's figure split into dozens of afterimages darting across her sight.
"You—!" she roared, bloodshot eyes locking on one of the phantoms. Her claws curled, and she hurled herself forward, kicking off with all the mana she could muster.
"I'll crush you!"
Her sprint thundered like a stampede. She lunged—
—straight into solid stone.
The crack was sickening. The wall buckled, spiderweb fractures splintering outward, dust and debris raining down. Scalp stumbled back, blood trickling down her brow as her knees buckled.
Her golden eyes rolled back. With a dull thud, her body collapsed into the puddled cobblestone, rain washing the crimson into thin rivulets.
The alley fell silent, save for Mina's ragged breathing and Ashe's shaky exhale as he let the veil unravel.
Mina bent over, hands on her knees, sweat dripping. Then she glanced back at Ashe, lips curving faintly.
"…Nice job, illusion boy."
Ashe blinked, his face flushed as he scratched the back of his head. "O-oh. Uh… thanks."
Mina snorted and retrieved her dagger Less, twirling it once before sheathing it back at her belt. "Next time, though? Don't trip in puddles."
"I—I didn't trip, I was just—!"
"Uh-huh." Mina's smirk widened. "You saved my ass, so I'll let it slide."
For now.
The rain had shifted from a gentle patter to a curtain of heavy drops, the cobblestones slick and gleaming beneath the muted glow of Alpime's lanterns. Mina brushed a strand of soaked hair away from her face, her amber-red eyes narrowing as she took in the scene.
Ashe let out a long sigh, shoulders slumping as he rubbed his temples. Mothwing: Poussière shimmered faintly around his eyes, the illusionary dust still clinging there. But the faint glimmer faltered, useless.
"…It's no good," he muttered, voice carrying over the rainfall. "The trail's gone. The rain washed away the scent, the mana traces—everything." His hands clenched and released again. "I—I'm sorry, Mina. I lost them."
Mina clicked her tongue and gave him a sharp look. "Don't apologize. It's useless to say 'sorry' when the sky itself screwed you over."
Ashe blinked. "B-but—"
"No buts. Save that guilty face for something that matters." Mina pointed with her chin toward the sprawled form in the puddles.
Scalp lay there, soaked to the bone. Her once-taut braid had unraveled, orange strands plastered across her face, her breaths heavy but steady. The rain pooled against her bronze-toned skin, her cloak clinging tight against her form.
"She's all brawn, no brain," Mina muttered, resting her hands on her hips. "Charging headfirst, relying on brute strength, and—" she gestured at the cracked wall behind them "—not even realizing illusions were chewing at her skull. If that's Dototore's second line, I'm not impressed."
She tilted her head, considering. Then her lips curved. "Still. Maybe this isn't so bad."
Ashe's ears perked. "H-huh?"
"We've got one of them." Mina knelt, tapping the hilt of Less against her shoulder while eyeing Scalp's unconscious body. "An actual Dototore thug, fresh and warm. If Tropico can't sniff out their hideout right away, at least we can drag this meathead back and wring her for information later."
Ashe's eyes lit up, hope flickering back into his damp expression. "Y-you're right. That's… that's better than nothing! Maybe even better than tailing them blindly." He crouched beside Scalp, brushing rain from her cheek almost absentmindedly. "Though… if she stays like this, she's going to catch a fever. We should… probably move her before she gets sick."
Mina arched a brow. "…You want to carry her?"
Ashe nodded, looking more serious than he had any right to in the downpour.
Mina let out a bark of laughter, so sudden it startled him. "Two skinny teenagers lugging around a hundred-kilogram horse woman through the alleys of Alpime?" She jabbed her thumb at his chest. "You planning to carry her on your back, illusion boy? Or maybe you want me to drag her by the ankles while you cheer me on?"
Ashe flushed, stammering. "I-I didn't mean it like that! I just thought—well, we can't just leave her here! She's a lead!"
Mina smirked, enjoying the panic painted across his face. "A lead that weighs twice as much as you, Ashie. What's the plan—tie her to a stick and carry her like wild game?"
"I—I was thinking more like…" He trailed off, scratching at his cheek, his eyes darting around. "M-magic? Maybe? I could, um, disguise us with an illusion so no one notices us dragging her around?"
Mina gave him the flattest stare she could muster through the rain. "…Disguise won't make her any lighter, genius."
Her laugh rang out again, muffled by the storm.
They grunted in unison like two halves of a broken pulley.
Scalp's bulk was ridiculous—too heavy at the shoulders, too wide at the middle—and the alley's angles offered no mercy. Mina's knuckles had gone white around the coarse fabric of the horse-woman's cloak; Ashe's back hummed with pain where he'd tried to shoulder the weight. Water sluiced down their sleeves and pooled in their boots, turning every step into a small defeat.
"Ugh—lift, Ashe, lift!" Mina wheezed, teeth clenched.
"I am lifting!" Ashe shot back, cheeks flushed. "I'll— I'll reposition—just—" He staggered, nearly dropping Scalp's limb as her arm slid from his grip.
A soft padding of footsteps cut across the wet stones, and the alleylights caught on fur as a silhouette blocked out the rain like a torch: Bloom. The black-furred catkin beastfolk moved with the coiled grace of a dancer, tail flicking like a metronome. She strolled up with one hand resting casually on the hilt of a sheathed blade and stopped dead when she saw what the two kids were doing.
"Handlers," she said flatly, golden eyes narrowing. "What're you doing? Who is that? And where the hell did you lose the trail?"
Mina's mouth opened and shut. Ashe, red in the face, could only point helplessly down the alley. "We—we lost them. Rain washed the traces. Scalp—she stayed behind. We knocked her out on purpose—ran her head into a wall." He winced. "Very strategic."
Bloom's tail flicked. For a heartbeat Mina worried the catkin would swat them both for incompetence. Instead, Bloom sighed and stepped closer to Scalp's prone form. Her voice dropped; there was no humor in it.
"Dreamer," Bloom murmured.
Ashe felt the air change. Where minutes before his Mothwing had shown faint threads of residual mana, now an even, cool pressure flowed from Bloom's hand into Scalp's forehead. It wasn't the violent surge of a Surge or the raw burn of a battle spell—rather a soft, deep current that felt like a lullaby pressed into iron.
"W-what did you do?" Ashe asked, eyes wide.
Bloom didn't look away from Scalp as she replied, "Put her under deeper sleep. Dry up the panic and lower her awareness—less chance of a sudden wake-up during transport. Nira showed me this one." There was a small, almost private softness in her voice—an admitted debt. "You'd do well to learn it. Not everything is brute force."
Mina, still panting, exchanged a glance with Ashe and felt a small flush of rescue pride. If Bloom could carry Scalp like she did, maybe this wasn't a total disaster.
Bloom hooked Scalp over her shoulder with casual horror—Scalp's bulk draped like a heavy sack—but the catkin moved as though she carried a child, not a mountain. Mina and Ashe trailed behind as Bloom strode out of the alley and back toward Juliss Road.
The plaza had become a battlefield of a smaller, more bureaucratic sort. Tropico Handlers in olive shivered under the rain, tending injuries, dragging splintered wagon bits away. Stone dust still drifted where the golem had smashed through buildings, and the monster itself now lay battered in the middle of the street—indents and grooves mapping the places where Party 2's heaviest hits had landed. Around its belly, a team of grim-faced handlers and smiths had worked feverishly; there, in a sodden, mud-splattered tangle of stone and softened earth, was a thing that made even Mina swallow: the body of the man who had been turned into the golem, peeled back from the shell like a puppet from its welt.
He looked… human in the middle, small and pale, the wooden nail still jutting from his back like a crooked tooth. The sight made the rain feel colder.
"Taft!" someone shouted, and a hush ran through the handlers. The wind answered like a drum roll.
She arrived like a break in weather: Taft Pantzir, Party 2's leader and the town's rumor-whispered "Green Gale." Rain did not wet her—if anything, the drizzle parted around her as a faint halo of tumbled air bent the drops aside. Her green eyes were sharp enough to split ropes. Her armor was practical but immaculately kept, the banner of Tropico riding her shoulder like an accusation.
Taft's gaze landed on Bloom, and she inclined her head with the terse respect of those who rely on one another in real danger. Bloom—shouldering Scalp—nodded back; even soaked and grimy, she looked like she belonged on the field. Ashe noticed something small and impressive: Bloom didn't appear to be enhancing her strength with visible mana. The catkin's movement felt like pure muscle economy; powerful, trained, controlled.
"We failed to tail them clean," Bloom reported without flourish as she set Scalp down by the handlers' improvised triage. "One of their muscle ended up under our control. She'll talk, eventually."
Taft's jaw worked. She walked the length of the plaza, eyes sweeping the scene—the ruined wagon, the inverted crates, the skin-sick smell of rot and magic in the air, and finally the collapsed golem. A handler eased the man—victim, not culprit—free from the stone exoskeleton and carried him to a medic. The man's breathing was shallow but alive; someone wrapped a blanket around him.
"Very well," Taft said at last, voice like iron wrapped in silk. "Send her to Dejoyye for questioning. And get teams on the warehouse—secure any rune contamination. We must show Alpime we'll clean this mess, not let it rot."
Dejoyye—earlier chewing on orders—looked up sharply and acknowledged the leader. "Understood!"
Mina felt the weight of the situation settle on her shoulders more than the rain ever had. She exchanged a small glance with Ashe; both were soaked, muddy, but alert. This was the kind of thing that could change a town's balance: an exposed warehouse, a sabotaged wagon, a golem animated by a man turned into a battery.
As Bloom strode past them toward Dejoyye, she spared Mina a brief look: something like a nod of approval for having at least not dropped Scalp while attempting to carry her.
"Handlers," Dejoyye added, directing his command to the younger ranks with brisk efficiency, "you lot—get statements recorded. We'll need witnesses, lists, signatures. This isn't just a scrap in the street; it's a message. And we are going to respond accordingly."
Mina, hands still damp and trembling from effort, felt a strange, sharp pride under the sour taste of rain. They'd been dragged into the mess—yes—but they were part of what would clean it up now. Ashe's bandaged grin met hers; he was trembling less than before.
As the handlers dispersed to their tasks and Taft's wind halo pushed the clouds to a grudging gray, Mina whispered low, half to Ashe, half to herself, "More influence points for Tropico, huh?"
Ashe blinked, and then—smiling despite the wet—he nodded.
Mina snorted despite herself. The bickering returned like a tide, small and human against the larger storm. They would file statements. They would learn lessons. For now, the plaza was a mess and the town was watching. The Guild War had opened a door, and Western III was already stepping through it.
The glass door of the Yoterland Breakfast Joint creaked as Mina shoved her shoulder against it and half-collapsed through, Ashe stumbling right after her. Both of them looked like they had crawled out of a river, soaked hair clinging to their foreheads, boots leaving little puddles on the checkered tiles.
They groaned in unison, sliding down to the doorframe like two defeated gladiators. Thirty minutes of statements, signatures, and endless questioning had drained them more than the fight itself. Mina especially looked like she wanted to hurl the rookie handler's notebook into the nearest gutter.
"That guy," Mina muttered, dragging her damp bangs out of her face. "What a blockhead. Kept asking me, 'And what was her name?' Like hell I know! Did she introduce herself while she was trying to crush my fingers into paste? Idiot…"
Ashe raised his hands weakly, as though to pacify her. His lips curved in a tired smile. "He was just doing his job. He's sixteen like us. Probably a part-timer—y'know, parents sending him to get work experience at Tropico."
Mina snapped her head toward him, eyes blazing. "Difference is, we're handlers. He's just scribbling like a parrot who lost its hearing aid. We nearly got brained in a back alley while he fumbled with his pen!" She sucked in a long breath, forcing her shoulders down. "…Ugh. Whatever. This morning's been… a mess."
Ashe followed her gaze to the clock hanging on the breakfast joint's wall, its little bronze pendulum swaying calmly as if the world hadn't almost imploded outside. "It's only…" He squinted. "Seven thirty-two. Still a whole morning left."
Mina exhaled sharply through her nose, then gave him the smallest nod. "You're right. Not ruined. Just… hijacked by guild business."
The smell of baked butter and coffee wrapped around them, lulling the adrenaline from their muscles. Behind the counter, Yorn—broad-shouldered, sleeves rolled, towel tucked at his belt—was balancing a tray of drinks for another table. His eyes flicked up, caught sight of the two drowned cats slumped at the door, and he barked a laugh.
"Well, look who decided to crawl back alive." He tilted his chin toward them and gestured with a finger. "C'mon, counter. Got something waiting for you."
Curious, Ashe pushed himself upright and shuffled over, Mina trudging behind. Yorn reached into the cryo-box, pulling out a small glass plate covered with a frost shield. On it sat Ashe's half-eaten Særlig Tart, the layers of jewel-colored jam gleaming under the lights, along with the cup of chocolate-tamed coffee still warm with gentle steam.
"When you ran out earlier, I figured you weren't just chasing a cat," Yorn said. "Kept these aside. Didn't want your hard-earned coin to go soggy."
Ashe's shoulders eased. For the first time all morning, relief brightened his face. "You're a lifesaver, Yorn. Really. After the—uh—encounter, this is…"
But Mina threw an arm across his chest like a barrier.
"Hold it right there, Illusory boy!"
Ashe blinked. "…Wait. Isn't it always Illusion boy?"
Mina grinned, baring her teeth like she'd scored a win. "Change of pace. Illusory sounds fancier. But don't dodge the issue!" She jabbed a finger at the tart. "Since it was your idea to drag us into Juliss Road, I get a quarter of that pastry. Fair's fair. Not only that—I went head to head with that horse-woman and nearly got my knuckles pulverized!"
She turned dramatically toward Yorn, who had already begun wiping a glass, expression neutral as a stone. "Hey, Yorn! Back me up here! Doesn't that sound fair?"
Yorn raised his brows, towel pausing mid-swipe. "Mmm." He clicked his tongue and looked back to his work. "…Don't drag me into this."
Ashe groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "…Fine. Quarter. But only a quarter. You always turn this into extortion…"
Mina beamed, snatched the fork, and cut a triumphant slice. The cream cheese base clung to the prongs, layered with glossy swirls of strawberry, blueberry, and raspberry jam. She popped it into her mouth with a self-satisfied flourish expecting victory to taste sweet—
—and immediately froze. And sweet it was. Too sweet.
Her eyes bulged, and she grabbed the nearest glass of water like her life depended on it. "—gahhh!! "
Her eyes went wide. Her whole face scrunched like she'd bitten a lump of sugar. "…What… the hell…" She swallowed with difficulty, reaching blindly for Ashe's chocolate laced coffee.
"That's so sweet! Are you trying to kill me?!"
Ashe leaned across the table, trying not to laugh. "What's wrong? Too much for your Null tastebuds?"
Mina slammed the glass down, coughing. "…Shut up! I just—didn't expect—gah—it to hit that hard!"
Ashe doubled over laughing, hand over his stomach. "Pfft—! You begged for it!"
"B-begged?!" Mina slammed the fork down, cheeks puffed red. "You owed me!"
Yorn shook his head slowly behind the counter, muttering to no one in particular, "Every monday morning with these two…"